Our neighbor, Vera, my classmate’s mother,
Used her husband’s belt,
Genuine Italian saddle leather,
Size thirty-six,
Knotted to the clothes bar,
Then, around her neck.
The deliveryman told us
In the middle of supper.
Reported the news to shocked spoons
Raised to unaccepting lips.
“Hanged herself in her bedroom closet,” he said.
My mother cried,
I slipped away
Sat on the front porch step
Looking up toward Vera’s house.
I held a square of chocolate cake
And suddenly could not eat.
The dog rubbed her nose against my side,
Wagged her tail.
I held the cake out to her,
Sprinkles raining on her eager paws.
She wolfed it down,
Then licked my face, slowly,
With her sweet, chocolate tongue.
–Susan Schefflein
Draft © 2005 S. Schefflein All rights reserved. World Rights Reserved.
1 comment:
The dog's name was Donna and she looked just like Lassie. She always went with us to the school bus and waited for us at night when we got home. One morning when it was raining, she was running along side the bus to say goodbye. The road was slippery and she slipped under the bus and was killed.
Patricia, there's my dark side coming out again.
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